


Rose-Tinted is Just Another Word for Pink

by misura



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Community: slashfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-21
Updated: 2007-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-23 14:06:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"You," House says, slamming open the door to Wilson's office, "have been </i>avoiding<i> me."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Rose-Tinted is Just Another Word for Pink

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: _House/Wilson - Wilson ignores House all day, so House decides to get to the bottom of it_

"You," House says, slamming open the door to Wilson's office, "have been _avoiding_ me." Fortunately for House's self-esteem, Wilson is, indeed, in - there's nobody around to see him, but House knows he'd still have felt like a bit of an idiot if he'd made a dramatic entrance into an empty office, at least until the next time Chase'll go and do something that might almost be cute if it wasn't also so very stupid.

Have ascertained that his intended victim is exactly where he wants him, House kicks the door closed again (no mean feat when you're one of the mobility-challenged - or whatever the politically correct term for cripples is today). Victim is, of course, not quite the right word in this case.

"Guilty conscience, Jimmy?" House helps himself to a chair.

"No!" Wilson says, half-rising - possibly since he's just remembered his manners and intends to offer House a chair. House's money would be on Wilson's fight-or-flight reflexes kicking in though - a good ten seconds too late, since House has already comfortably settled himself in between Wilson and the door, and Wilson's smarter than to think he can actually win a fight with House.

Wilson sputters a bit, then sits down again, having realized the obvious futility of attempting to flee. "Now why would _I_ have a guilty conscience?" he asks, with that wide-eyed stupid look he does so well - picked it up as a kid when his parents asked him if he'd been making out with a girl at the school-party, House bets. Wilson's nothing if not stuck in his childhood.

"Are you implying that of the two of us, I have more things I should be feeling guilty about?" House inquires. "Because that's just mean, you know."

"I do _not_ have a guilty conscience!" Wilson declares. "Nor have I been avoiding you all day."

House tsk's. "Two lies in two sentences. I rest my case."

"Oh, and you never lie." Wilson snorts.

"My, this is getting very personal, very quickly. Not that I mind - do go on. Any other sins you want to confess to. You can tell me, you know - all of your dirty little secrets are perfectly safe with me."

"Until you need to get out of clinic-duty," Wilson says sourly. "Then, all of a sudden, you're feeling an inexplicable urge to run to Cuddy and tell her stories about - well, you know."

"We're friends!" House protests. "That's what friends do - threaten to tell embarrassing stories about you to your boss. And besides, it's not as if I actually ever _did_ tell Cuddy anything."

"No, because I always give you what you want." Is that a hint of bitterness he's hearing? Surely not - it must just be self-pity. Wilson's great at self-pity, almost as good as House knows himself to be - Wilson's just way, way worse at hiding it. Wilson bottles it all up inside - House lets it all out, disguised as constructice criticism or just a good whine at Wilson about whatever subject he feels like whining about. It's very therapeutic, whining at Wilson. "And since when do you consider us 'friends'?"

"Since ten seconds ago," House replies. "I'm over it now, don't worry. So," he switches his cane to his other hand, "you always give me what I want? Is that, like, a promise?"

"No, on second thought, it was more a slip of the tongue."

"Freudian." House leans back, smiling. "I love Freudian slips of the tongue - they're always so very revealing, while at the same time, they leave you with lots of empty spaces for your imagination to fill in. For example, you used the word 'tongue'. Now, when you say 'tongue', what do you think that makes me think of?"

"I ... " Wilson grimaces, and House just _knows_ he's going to get lied to. "I don't know, and I don't want to know either. Did you only come here to annoy me, or was there an actual purpose to your visit?"

"Actually, I forgot." House frowns. "I guess I had a reason - and knowing me, it must have been a good one - but then you started talking dirty to me, and it just slipped my mind."

"I did not - " Wilson starts, then sighs. "Fine. Could you maybe leave and come back when you remember what it is you wanted to see me about? I've got work to do."

"You know what they say: all work and no play make Jimmy a boring boy. Actually, that sucks - it doesn't even rhyme. Huh." House shakes his head. It's sad, really - adages have to rhyme, or how else is anyone going to remember them? "Anyway, I'm sure it'll come back to me in a moment."

There are, House knows, people out there who claim they can enjoy 'simply being together, not saying anything'. Most of them are authors of romantic novels and thus, by definition, liars. Wilson definitely isn't one of them - he's already out of patience after a mere twenty-seven seconds.

"I'm waiting."

House picks up a random piece of paper from Wilson's desk. It's a phone-bill - boooring, unless ... is that the number for a sex-line, or just for the nearest pizzaria? House always tends to get the two mixed up in his head - he doesn't know why, but the pizza-delivery guy keeps giving him funny looks and never accepts any tips anymore, which is fine with House, really.

"If your level of endurance was as bad as your patience, you'd really suck at sex," House says, waving the phone-bill, daring Wilson to try and make a grab for it.

Wilson flushes, either at House saying the s-word, or at the strain of keeping his inner child from swiping at the piece of paper House is waving in front of his nose. "Would you quit doing that?"

"I'm having fun," House explains.

"Well, I'm not," Wilson snaps, finally breaking down. He's way too slow though - slow and clumsy.

"Then you're not doing it right," House says. "Want some lessons? I'm not cheap, but I'm really good."

"House." Wilson rubs his temples. "What do you want?"

"I thought you'd never ask." House puts the phone-bill back where he found it - more or less. "What I want is a bigger salary, a huge mansion to live in, my own tropical island - oh, and world-peace, just because I don't want to be all selfish. Do you think you can arrange any of that?"

"No," Wilson says.

"A blowjob then, maybe? I know, it's a big step down from the tropical island, but I don't want to be difficult, and you did say you had work to do."

"I am _not_ going to give you a ... a blowjob in my office." Wilson's face has turned red again. Ah, to be young and innocent. House would almost begin to feel a little guilty, really, he would.

"We could go to mine, if you want to," House offers. "My minions might still be around, but I'm sure they'll understand if I tell them why I'm sending them home early."

"No," Wilson says. "Just ... no. No blowjobs, no quickies in a closet, no sex. At least, not at work."

"Whew, you had me worried you were going to run off and join a monastery there for a few seconds." House frowns. "Do they even still _have_ those around here? Never mind, you'd never fit in there. You're too dirty-minded. Which reminds me: I just remembered why I wanted to see you."

"I can barely contain my excitement," Wilson says. "Honestly."

"Sarcasm won't get you anywhere. Take it from the master."

"Are you, in fact, going to tell me why you wanted to see me, or will you be saving that for tomorrow?" Wilson asks, pretending the papers on the left side of his desk need to be shuffled into the pile that's lying on the right side of his desk.

"You," House stabs a finger at Wilson's chest, "have been avoiding me. Wait, haven't I said that before?"

"The minute you waltzed in, actually," Wilson informs me. "And I still don't know what you're talking about."

"Really?" House cocks his head.

"Yes, really." Wilson looks a little tense - he's either developed a sixth sense when it comes to House, or else House has become more predictable than he'd like to be.

"Reeaally?"

"Yes. And this truly isn't necessary."

"Reeeaaally?"

"House!" Ooh, looks like Wilson's losing his temper a little bit.

"Really really really really really really really really?" House could go on - he'd actually intended to build up to this moment more slowly, but Wilson's being pushy. House will make him pay for rushing him later. "You don't have the teensiest, tiniest itty-bitty of an idea?"

"As I said before: no." Wilson's look is almost, but not quite, a glower. Wilson couldn't work himself up to a good glower if his life depended on it - he's too well-conditioned to always be nice to people.

"That's bad," House says, frowning.

Wilson doesn't want to ask - but, of course, he can't help himself. "Why?"

"Because _I_ don't know either. Oh, I know you've been avoiding me - stop denying it; we both know it's true, so you're only making an idiot of yourself by pretending it isn't. What I don't know, and what I'm just dying to find out is _why_ you've been avoiding me. Any suggestions?" House gives Wilson a hopeful look.

"Maybe ... I simply didn't want to talk to you?"

House raises one eyebrow. Wilson shrugs. "Just an idea."

"A bad idea," House declares. "A stupid idea. _Of course_ you didn't want to talk to me - that was the whole point of trying to avoid me."

"We're talking now," Wilson points out.

"So we are." House thinks this over for a bit. "Which could either mean you've given up, or that whatever reaon you had for not wanting to talk to me is no longer valid. However, if that was the case, you'd be able to tell me about it, which you aren't. Which means ... you avoided me because you were afraid I knew about something you'd done, but now that we're actually face to face, you've discovered that I don't know about it at all - or at least, you _think_ I don't."

"Actually, I think you're bluffing," Wilson informs him.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," House offers. "Oops, I forgot - you only have sex at work when it's with women. Has anybody ever told you that's a pretty sexist attitude? Not to mention the fact that you're missing out on some great - "

"Don't you ever think about anything else?" Wilson interrupts him.

"I'm compensating for the fact that I rarely think of sports," House says.

"Oh, fine." Wilson raises his voice. "This morning, I told Cuddy I was gay."

"You _lied_? To _Cuddy_?" That's just ... wrong. Sure, House lies to Cuddy all the time, but that's different. Cuddy expects it from him; it's like their own private game.

"I wasn't lying." Wilson looks confused. "I _am_ gay."

"You're _married_ ," House says. "To a _woman_. How is that being gay?"

"Fine. I'm bisexual." Wilson raises his hands - it's supposed to be a gesture of surrender, but House knows Wilson's just using it to say he doesn't want to talk about this.

"Okay, so you told Cuddy ... that I was your boyfriend?" House asks, a little warily. He doesn't think Cuddy really hasn't noticed anything - she's not that stupid when it comes to personal relationships - but having her suspect something is one thing. Having her _know_ is another thing.

"Not ... in so many words." Wilson looks slightly uncomfortable.

"She guessed, and you didn't deny it," House concludes. "Not convincingly, anyway. I've seen you trying to lie - you're less convincing than Chase, and he's horrible at telling lies."

"What was I supposed to say?" Wilson demands.

"You could have suggested we were actually having threesomes with Cameron," House says. "Except that maybe she'd have wanted in on some of the action then - she didn't ask you for any videotapes, did she? According to the Internet, women love nothing better than two good-looking males being all over each other. It's a cultural thing."

"She was very ... professional about it."

"Professional," House repeats. "She was professional about it - by which I assume you mean she didn't have you removed by security for being one of those icky gay people. And she didn't immediately come running to me, either. In fact, I saw her this afternoon, and she didn't even mention you."

"Not everyone considers love a weakness they should exploit," Wilson comments with a pointed look. House is sure he's got no idea whom Wilson might be referring to.

"Love isn't a weakness - that whole sugary sentimental caring thing is." House sneezes. Twice.

"Someone must be talking about you." Wilson glances at his watch and winces. Pretending he's actually got somewhere he should be - like a date, perhaps.

"I'm going to find out what else you're not telling me sooner or later," House says.

"You do that," Wilson replies, rising and grabbing his carkeys. "I'm going home."

"Coward," House says.

(As it turns out, House finds out later - too late, in fact, to keep himself from being drafted and put on display while wearing a pink tie, while Cuddy speeches about being open-minded, modern and fair to all, regardless of race, gender or choice of partner, but especially to people and organizations who are prepared to donate some funds to the hospital.)


End file.
